A crying child left alone
by Hana no Hikari
Summary: Dazai Osamu, a demonic prodigy, later joining the ranks of the fearsome Executives of the Port Mafia: "... a crying child who's been left alone in the darkness, a world of nothingness far emptier than the world we can see."
1. Prologue

So I sunk in deep with the Bungou Stray Dogs series... here's a collection of short stories, from when Dazai was still with the Mafia~

First, a prelude!

* * *

 **Prologue**

This is the story of a child left alone in the dark.

He didn't know how he ended up there, nor did he know the way out.

 _I'm still looking for it. Or, maybe, I know—_

Sometimes, there were beams of brilliant, warm light poking holes in the wide, fathomless darkness.

 _But those are..._

Sometimes, just when the child thinks it can't be possible, the darkness grows deeper, colder, more suffocating than before.

 _... those are not the way out._


	2. Part 1

**Part 1**

'Mori-san is go—going to kill the old man...' the child trembles. I know this because he's gripping my hand. Hard.

 _I know that._

'Aren't you going to s—stop him?'

 _No. Why should I? Even if I tried, I'm the one who's going to get killed._

'B—But—it's wron—' he trips on his words, and I take the opportunity to cut him out.

 _There's nothing wrong with it... logically._

Mori-san quietly slits the Boss' neck. I stare unblinking at the blood showering the drapes, the bed sheets, the walls. Mori-san drops the scalpel, and he turns to me—red-splattered face, red-splattered smock, red-splattered hands. The words he says next carves into my mind that I am the sole witness to the former Boss' will—no, to Mori-san's will—that Mori-san shall be taking over as the new Boss.


	3. Part 2

**Part 2**

'That boy—that one with the older, scary girl—he's about just as old as you are, isn't he?' the child is overcome with curiosity. I know this because the trembling in his hand had stopped; for a moment, the smaller fingers curled around my hand were at ease. Relaxed, seemingly, but also excited.

 _He's older than I am by a little bit over a month. You've asked this before._

Silence, but I can feel the child still wants to say something.

 _So, what?_

'Nothing,' he says, but he sounds like... he was yearning for something already out of reach, 'What I was going to say was something I asked before too, and I know you're going to give me the same answer again.'

Mori-san still had his heavy hand on my shoulder, leading me away, like he led me away before—that day when I first met that boy with the ginger locks and passé fashion taste. It was the same; we had looked back at each other for a few seconds and were led away.

The child ventured again, 'If it was him—if it was that ginger-headed boy—what would you do?'

There was no hesitation in my answer, _Follow orders just the same, of course. For as long as the Boss deems him useful, he remains. If, for any reason, the Boss and the Executives think that he is no longer of value to the organization, then so be it._

Because a couple of years had passed since then. That boy, though we are of the same age... Nothing of the sentiments we used to have for ourselves, or for each other, or for the world, persisted in the gazes we exchanged; "Nee-san" isn't the same "Nee-san" anymore, just as "Mori-san" isn't just "Mori-san" anymore; and Q—

Q, that child who used to play happily by us, like a dog running in circles around his master's heels... That Q—Q with the Ability "Dogra Magra"... "for causing incalculable damage to life and business property controlled by the Port Mafia", and "for endangering the safety and reputation of the Port Mafia"...

Yumeno Kyuusaku, alias "Q"... is slated for a fate worse than death.

As I walk silently and obediently by the Boss, the quivering in the child's hands resumed.


	4. Part 3

**Part 3**

Tonight, the child didn't come with me. I know this because the tiny hands constantly gripping my hand—or my suit, or my pants, or my coat—are not there. I feel lighter.

 _Free?_

I laugh to myself—at myself—as I watch the rabid shepherd dog tear apart this insignificant sliver of a fragmented world apart.

 _Ah, what a wonderful evening._

Even twirling this heavy MK 23 around my fingers is as easy as playing with a feather. I wonder briefly if it would be just as simple if I were to aim the gun at my head.

 _Hnn... but Boss would be very annoyed at me if I shot myself and left this hat rack in his rampage until he died—wait, somehow, that makes it more appealing..._

Tomorrow, before the morning light touches this part of city, this organization will have been another obstacle out of the way.


	5. Part 4

**Part 4**

'A friend! A new friend!' the child squeals in delight. I know this because he's clutching the hem of my coat. Jumping up and down.

 _He isn't a 'friend'. He's not even an acquaintance yet._

'He is!'

 _He's just someone to break through boredom with._

The child frowns at me.

'Another piece to the game?'

 _That's right._

The child's grimace deepens.

 _A lot of information passes through him. If I get close, then his knowledge will be accessible to me and come in handy for various things. Well, it's not like I don't know every nook and cranny of the Mafia already, and given my status, there's almost nothing he can give me that I can't obtain myself if I dig around... but it doesn't hurt to be sure. Also, if he decides to betray the Port Mafia, if someone like him with all that information betrays us, then I'll be—_

He tears his gaze off me and suddenly looks interested in the piles of records at our feet, but keeps his grip on my suit, his fist tightening around the fabric, 'Why the effort then?'

 _Were you listening? If I succeed here, he'd be useful to m—_

'Is Odasaku-san the same?'

 _What do you mean?_

He looks back at me intently, and, though he doesn't speak, the accusation in his eyes is clear enough for me—too real for me not to understand.

Odasaku and I successfully contaminate Ango's pristine suit with the muck and grime we got from our previous errand, and thus we were victorious in convincing Ango to join us for a drink. Even then, the child does not take that look off from his face, even as he listens keenly to my companions' small stories over alcohol and crabmeat.

As if he's saying, 'You're lying. That is a half-truth. You're lying.'


End file.
